Bruce Wayne Playboy Millionaire
by porkchopexpres
Summary: The constant lie that the Batman forces onto himself is Bruce Wayne. This story examines the relationship between the two and what happens when this relationship breaks down.


**Bruce Wayne**

**Playboy Millionaire**

**Dress rehearsal**

Blood and dirt circled the drain of the shower, the blood winning the race. Little of it was his.

After drying himself and donning a robe he went into his seldom used bedroom and put on his costume. There was a lot more to being Bruce Wayne than wearing a monogrammed silk robe. First, make-up. The male cosmetic industry had really taken off recently but he had been a loyal customer for years.

He applied concealer and foundation to the bruises and scars with practised ease and put a triple action moisturiser over his face to soften its hard lines. In the past he had used facials as well but he had always found the masks difficult to take off. Then there were drops for his tired red eyes and another moisturiser for his hands, which had been a recent addition to the routine after a diplomat had comment how callous his handshake had been.

"DIY at Wayne manor?" the man had joked.

"I do like to tinker with things" he'd replied and then monitored the man for two weeks after.

Clothes were next. He always made sure to wear a visible girdle, antiquated as they were so as to appear both flabby and insecure. The nanoweave kevlar running through it would also offer some protection from blades and small arms fire. His shirt and suit were also slightly too big for him, and made of thicker material than normal. Why would Bruce Wayne have any muscle definition from his decadent lifestyle?

Finally, after putting on differently weighted shoes to make his walk clumsier he went to the mirror. He tried a smile, managed a grimace and so stretched his jaw up and down. After a few minutes he could finally do it. Women had often commented what an easy smile he had.

His costume complete and his mask in place, the man that was now Bruce Wayne emerged from his room and made ready to depart to that most hated of events, the socialite fund-raiser.

**Pre-Theatre**

Having been a Bachelor for as long as seemingly anyone in all of Gotham knew, Bruce found it amusing that Alfred knew exactly what qualities he needed from his dates. Beautiful women had been used as distractions by the men on whose arm they hung for years, but there were other factors to consider. A certain shallowness and vanity helped, for he would much rather they focus on themselves than him. Liars were useful. They might sell a kiss and tell story to journalists, keeping up his playboy persona. And without putting too fine a point on it, he preferred them stupid. A smart woman saw things many men would miss, make connections others wouldn't have even considered. It was well known that Bruce Wayne found smart women intimidating, no doubt to the relief of some of the older fashioned WayneCorp shareholders. Smart women had been trying to kill the Batman for years.

The woman who now sat next to him seemed to tick all of the right boxes. Vanessa Morgans was an up and coming mezzo-soprano with an average voice (she had already given him a sample) and a presumably excellent publicist. She was trying her best to be demure, an effort spoiled by her dress and the champagne glass she kept asking to be filled. Both were spilling over slightly. His own glass had been discreetly filled with ginger beer.

Alfred had put it out a while ago into the broader social sphere that Bruce Wayne hated being called "Brucie" as it reminded him of his mother. He had tried to do this subtly, without Bruce ever finding out. The Batman knew of course, but Bruce never hinted as such. It was a thing he was grateful for and didn't want to cheapen. It was also a thing Vanessa seemed not to have heard.

"So Brucie, will anyone famous be at this little swaray?"

When he was still travelling and learning and becoming, Bruce had joined a Russian theatre troop, mainly to learn the language and accent. Time and again it was the performing experience that had proven the more useful.

"Well the mayor of course, with a few other public officials and other such boring necessaries. But Lord Blackwarn will be there, it is his mansion after all. And he likes his parties lively. Music, performers. Women in giant Martini glasses. I've heard they call him "The Greater Gatsby."

"I've heard that too. Why is that?"

"No idea. Maybe it's like a stage name for himself. But do you know who the most important person of all will be?" He leaned forward and took her hand and she smiled and rolled her eyes.

"Oh Brucie, you're sweet but so horribly cliché."

He feigned at feigning confusion.

"How do you mean?"

"Weren't you going to say me?" She pointed at herself.

"No." He used the hand he held to point one of her fingers at himself. "I was going to say me." He put on his most charming smile.

"Oh Brucie!" She pouted but pulled herself closer to him. It might prove difficult to leave early and alone if he kept this up. He needed an out. Damn his most charming smile!

"But if you like I could introduce you to Daniel Wallace, another important but not quite as important man as me, who so happens to manage Gotham Theatre Royal."

She took the bait and withdrew into herself. He could practically hear her rehearsing conversations in her head. Hopefully Wallace wasn't married.

**Curtain Raiser**

The limousine pulled up the driveway, which took time given how long it was. Bruce noted the peacocks nesting in the garden and the new fountain in its centre, useful for small talk. The Batman memorized the visible exits, assessed the security camera blind spots, categorized the alarm systems and a hundred other things that came automatic and unbidden. The flow rate of the fountain was roughly 345cm/s judging by its circumference and the height of the spill point.

The car stopped and the door was opened by a young man whose dress and demeanour spoke of serving class. At least that was what Bruce thought. What The Batman thought was _late 20's, 5.7, 145 pounds. Left handed. Eats well. Exercises but without any focus on the latissimus dorsi. Most likely contributed to the back pain evident in his steps. Swollen red lips indicate allergic reaction to high pollen count. Possible symptom of Crohn's Disease. Resents his work.. Possible suspect of any petty theft tonight. Small. Weak. Threat level minimal._

Bruce was eager to step out. Limousines were slow and manoeuvred badly. Not what he liked from his transportation. He helped Vanessa out and linked arms with her as they went to the door, opened bottle of champagne in tow. He looked at it intently.

"I could have sworn this was a 47 when we left" he said congenially, all the while noting the panoramic surroundings in its reflection.

The young man escorted them to the mansions doors and opened them with a grunt. The sounds of loud revelry greeted them. Drunken laughter and shouted jibes. People snatching food and drink from the trays of milling waiters. Men and women visually fornicating. Above them a banner decreeing that all the proceeds from event tickets would go to the cities hospices.

Bruce Wayne smiled like a fool and loudly announced himself.

Vaudeville

Bruce went through the motions, shaking hands, making jokes and introducing his new lady friend. Vanessa proved her worth, racking up all the appropriate adjectives such as enchanting, alluring, captivating and with one brave man perhaps unwisely offering voluptuous. Once Lord Blackwarn had heard he'd arrived he had appeared in front of Bruce in some garish grey and plum lined suit, wine in one hand and brandy in the other. Bruce knew neither was meant for him.

"Well well well if it isn't the playboy millionaire himself, come from stately Wayne manor after a long day of squandering his fortune to my own humble abode." He gestured vaguely around the great room they found themselves. In addition to the ubiquitous chandelier and Mahogany furniture-most of it Honduras though a few bulkier and darker Cuban items were present- Bruce saw several Paul Klee originals and at least one fake Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec decorating the walls. Lord Blackwarn had been the victim of forgery several times, all his own fault for black market dealing. Bruce resolved to find out where the piece had been acquired.

"Wonderful to see you again Peter." Lord Blackwarn hated being addressed by his first name. "I heard a rumour that you were having a party tonight, but it doesn't seem to have quite started yet!" He had to yell the last part over the crescendo of the Jazz band playing in the corner.

"Well it's early doors yet my boy. The wild and the wonderful only take place in the deepest of night, though you saw fit to make an early exit both other times you've attended my little get togethers. Don't think I didn't notice."

"Apologies Peter, business called me away. I wouldn't be much of a playboy millionaire if I didn't have any millions. And those stock markets don't play themselves."

"I wonder what business could have possibly called you away at such a late hour, well after the market closed?"

_A breakout at the state penitentiary. Two murders. Twelve counts of Arson. Some coincidental Jaywalking ._

"Peak trading time in Hong Kong and Japan. That's where it's all taking off you know."

"Indeed indeed, I've noticed a drop in my WayneCorp shares since you took the helm. But nonetheless I wish you all success in your nocturnal enterprises. Apart from all of that though, how is Gotham's favourite son?

Bruce had never considered Gotham his Mother or Father. They were both long dead, while the city was merely dying, a sick old relative he had thought to escape once. But duty drove him back and he was doing his best to nurse her. Feeding her bitter medicine. Wiping the excrement from her bowels. Before he could reply though Lord Blackwarn had turned his attention to Vanessa.

"My dear" he said, bowing low. "Forgive us our dreary talk of finance. You are a picture of radiance and beauty. Perhaps you will be the one to tame this young buck." He nodded to Bruce. "I implore you, convince him to settle down, take his hands off the reigns and enjoy that sizeable trust fund of his. Leave the running of things to old boring men who take few risks."

"Ah but what's life without risk?" Vanessa said. She seemed pleased with her remark.

"Quite so. And so might I risk asking your name and occupation, you strike me as a woman possessed of talent in some shape or form."

"Vanessa Morgans, floundering singer" she laughed at her own dismissive remark, dismissing it.

"Well paddle no more my dear. We make for the shore line of success. Come, allow me to introduce you to some like minded individuals who might help with your endeavours."

"Bruce has already promised to introduce me to Mr Wallace." Vanessa obviously didn't want to jump ships without a good reason. Lord Blackwarn readily supplied it

"Daniel? I'm afraid he couldn't make it. Perhaps on account of his loss of employment. Besides, the theatre Royal is something of an ageing whore. Only donations from the Wayne foundation keep her open for business, a bizarre memorial to the site of your parents tragic end if you don't mind me saying so."

Vanessa seemed taken aback. "Is this true? That's where they were shot?"

Thin lipped to avoid grimacing, Bruce nodded. He had often wondered why he had fought so hard to keep the place open and the shows running. What had happened there was an ugly memory that could never be buried. But the thought of letting it slip into darkness, turning into another derelict where junkies shot up was even uglier.

"I don't know if I could preform there, knowing that." Vanessa looked disturbed at the idea. Her grip on Bruce's arm had weakened considerably.

The too short silence was filled by Lord Blackwarn.

"Yes well I have a few other friends of placement and influence that I have no doubt would be charmed to meet your acquaintance. Though I must be blunt..."

"That's unlike you Peter" interjected Bruce.

Lord Blackwarn pressed on "Blunt in saying that they well see this young man as competition, given his stake in a rival business. In short I suspect the meeting might go smoother if we were sans Wayne." He tried his best to look saddened by the whole debacle.

"Oh Brucie do you mind?" Vanessa asked, though her arm had already found itself linked to Lord Blackwarns.

Bruce made a show of looking annoyed. He was glad to be free to roam however. There were things he needed to do.

"Don't mind me."He leaned in close to Vanessa's ear and spoke quietly so that only she could hear

"Though I hear Peter and his friends can be somewhat...demanding at times"

She smiled at the intimacy of the situation "Sweet of you to worry, but I am not a little girl any more."

"Just trust me when I say that rich men with time on their hands can indulge in some unconventional behaviour."

"So I have heard." She gave him a knowing look.

Only for a moment did the world disappear before he realised what she had meant. There had been a story in the more sensationalist papers about him having a sex dungeon beneath his mansion where he dressed all in latex. Alfred had found it greatly amusing. Bruce hadn't, and investigated for months where the story had come from. In fact he still was.

He drew away from Vanessa, took a pull from a nearby empty bottle and assumed his usual front of nonchalant idiocy.

"I need to find a place to put all this Moet anyway, if you catch my meaning." he said

"I trust it will exit from the correct orifice" Lord Blackwarn quipped, guiding Vanessa away to a future filled with possibilities and regrets.

**Intermission**

Once Bruce excused himself to the bathroom he soon found what he was hoping to. He had seen the signs earlier. The two men had already gone in together twice, coming back louder and more agitated. This third time he followed.

One of them looked up unconcernedly and offered Bruce a smile and a loud sniff. It didn't amuse him to see it was Lord Blackwarns nephew. It didn't surprise him either. It was one of the reasons he had come after all.

"Care to partake? I thought the coffee was the only good thing to come out of that shit-hole of a country but I must say this stuff is topping the export list."

His friend, the more far gone of the two, raised his head, startled. His face had a green tinge that seemed to rise up all the way to his hair.

"What are you, dense? Are you fucking retarded or something!?" he shouted at his accomplice. "He's the God-damned CEO of WayneCorp! You think he needs a couple of fuck wits like us to help him get buzzed? The man's got connections! Probably could beat both of us bloody and walk away without anyone saying anything"

_Not probably. But a subtle approach might be better._

"Actually a friend of mine was asking around. He's been desperate to find a source. He's quite rich and a good person to have on your side. I know he'd be grateful, if you catch my meaning."

"Who the hell's this friend!?"

_Or not._

"Perhaps you two could "hook" me up with a name. Help me "score" as they say." It was all he could do not to use air quotes.

It was The younger Blackwarn that spoke up. He wasn't a bad kid. Just fatally stupid. Bruce would try and keep him out of it. The Batman might not.

"Well Stephen here sells to me sometimes. But when we want a "big score"..." He smiled and really did use air quotes. "...We see a man on 20th Avenue, at that old diner called Bobs. Fellow by the name of Wallace. Scotsman if you can believe it. Stays there late most nights. Does his business in a warehouse opposite. You might even catch him tonight. The Diner's open till 2.

"I think I might." While the Batman could beat doors down, sometimes people just simply opened them for Bruce Wayne.

"Hey don't be forgetting us!" Stephen said

"I won't." said Bruce, exiting.

**Distanciation**

He wandered and he watched and he listened and remembered. The movers and shakers of Gotham could often be relied upon to have loose lips about the city's secrets. As a boy Bruce had loved secrets. Other children rarely told him theirs, knowing that he never shared his. He found them out anyway, by hiding or just sitting nearby and pretending not to listen. Pretending to be stupid and not care. But the best and worst secrets were the ones they never told. The ones that took weeks of listening to lots of different people. Looking at the way someone slowly became someone else. He wished he could tell them he knew. A secret was a hard thing to carry alone.

The mayor had been taking bribes again, and would need another visit. But he was still better than the last, who in turn had been an improvement on his predecessor. It often seemed to him that he could only make the greys lighter. The new DA wasn't in anyone's pocket, not even his own. The job had been forced on him and he wasn't looking to make any waves. Funding for the medical centre was being skimmed by its board members, though that was perhaps only to pay the people that had arranged for them to become board members.

The party proved a microcosm of society itself. The large rooms in the middle were bustling with activity as people came too and throw, conducting their social exchanges in a controlled frenzy. The quieter rich suburbs of the west wing held the wealthy and the reserved, smoking cigars and musing about a world they knew little of. But it was the small, often drabber back rooms that Bruce visited. The ones next to toilets and closets and boiler rooms. People would look up and then go back to talking about their philandering and money laundering. This was Bruce Wayne after all. A man who had seen it all and done at least half.

The night wore on. He began to get restless, agitated. He wanted to disappear into blackness, smell the fresh new stenches of the city. A window was right there._ So easy to smash through. Run, jump, tuck in head and narrow eyes. Tuck in, make a ball, lead with knees and elbows upon impact.. Fly._ Thinking about it made him breathe hard. Heart beating strong. A fist pounding. Powerful. In control. There was no hope of being those things like he was now. He caught sight of himself in the windows reflection, and wanted to smash that as well. It was even less substantial than glass. He needed to catch his breath

He looked for an empty room and settled for one that only had two ladies and one grinning fool in it. That grin faded when he saw Bruce, and they all shifted to readjust their clothing and positioning.

"Don't let me interrupt. Just need to lie low after all those high balls" he told them. He recognised the man as a stand up comedian and tried to ignore a deep and automatic hate.

The man went back to telling racist jokes. Spics. Coons. Chinks. They always did that at these parties, trying to forge confidence in the conspiracy of broken taboo.

Bruce went to close the door but some black shadow slipped in just before. He looked down and beheld the mangiest cat he had ever seen. It was clearly on its last legs of which it had three, and judging by the smell and the singed fur someone had tried to set its tail on fire.

"Ughh, what on earth is _that_ creature" said one of the ladies, pointing at the corner where the cat watched angrily.

"I dunno" said the comedian "But I think it should leave" He got up and advanced threateningly towards the cat, which gave a very tired hiss.

Bruce strode forward and put himself between the two. The comedian hesitated, uncertain. "It's just some stray."

"It's the late Lady Blackwarns cat, whom she was very fond of. I guess the noise drove it here. It's probably after somewhere quiet. Away from all these...people."

"Then it should be outside. Catching rats or something." This was said by the second woman. In fact all three had stood up and were facing down Bruce, trying to intimidate him. It was laughable. But he didn't laugh. Instead he felt coldness come over him. Covering him like a shroud. He didn't trust himself to speak. If he did he might use the other voice.

"So that's where you've been hiding."

Everybody turned to the new woman entering the room as she calmly and with great self assurance walked up to Bruce , lay her arms about his and rested her head back against his chest. She reach a hand up and stroked his chin.

"Selina" Bruce said, his voice softer than he had dared hope. "What a surprise. I didn't realise that you'd received an invite."

"Lost in the mail no doubt" she said

"Maybe Lord Blackwarn wasn't happy with the last few items you acquired for him. A question of authenticity I heard."

"He can be a prickly one, though they do say you can't con an honest man. I was hoping that we could have a private chat, Mr Wayne. Strictly business of course, relating to your donations to several charities and ways in which we might...enlarge them."

She gave the whole room an appraising stare and eventually settled her gaze on the three in front of her. "Perhaps you could give Bruce and I some privacy while we discuss certain matters" she told them dismissively and raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'd prefer to watch." she began tracing circles on his chest. Tracing things in the circles.

The women looked appropriately scandalised and left with the comedian reluctantly in tow. Before he exited he went back and extended his hand to Bruce.

"I didn't realise it was you" he said, as if they were old friends. Bruce took the hand offered and felt his own being crushed. He jerked slightly and dislocated a finger. The comedians face went pale white.

"Well, no harm done" Bruce said, popping it back into its socket. The man looked as if he were about to do something but the cat had moved between Bruces legs and bared its teeth upwards at him

"I think that's your cue." Selina said to him, teeth bared as well.

**Distaff**

After the door had slammed shut Selina walked to the couch and sat in a luxurious sprawl. She turned her head to Bruce and eyed him critically.

"It's not often I get to swoop in and save you" she said.

Bruce said nothing, but bent down to stroke the cat.

"Consider this a professional courtesy from one Thespian to another, but you looked like you were slipping there, and it wasn't a pretty sight."

"I know."

she rolled her eyes at the admission. "You never did have much to say to me. Mostly it was just _stop_ or _no. _Like some reluctant prom date."

"Have you stopped? You've been laying low for some time."

"Slowed down maybe. It won't last though. People like us are slaves to momentum. If we took the time to think, we'd realise how ridiculous our lives are."

Again Bruce said nothing, only going to the window to stare outside.

"You know, I learned long ago I could tell how you were just by the number of public events you went to. Libraries, blood drives. You almost looked genuinely happy at the anthropology exhibit ceremony, but that was months ago. Lately it seems all you've been doing is networking for your broodier half."

"Museums open without me cutting a ribbon."

She got up and walked over to him. "Fine, make me say it. I'm worried about you. All these parties aside you've literally become a hermit living out of a cave. There's no point saving a world you don't want to be part of you know."

"Bruce Wayne is just a tool. To be used and put aside as needed."

"You were born with that name. It's who you were for years before you became this." She pointed at his distorted reflection. "I wouldn't be so quick to forget that. Many people are better off because of how Bruce Wayne helps the city, rich layabout though he is. I heard almost half of tonights donation target came from you alone."

He turned and stared at her. She was no friend. When he had been younger and much more foolish he had let her into his world, as she had him. That couldn't be undone. He hated himself for that weakness, lived in constant fear and doubt about what she might do. But as she said. Momentum.

"Are you going to tell me what you know?" he asked.

She gave him a sly look. "I remember not so long ago when you actually made an effort to charm me. Give me things I wanted."

No, not a friend. Just the only person that he had any hope of relating to. A person like that needed to be held at distance.

"What do you want?" he said simply.

She told him. And he agreed. Now came her part.

"That story in the paper. The one that I know you were scared of. I know where it came from. I know _who_ it came from"

"Tell me."

Two words and the world lurched. Every single thing in the room shifted a few degrees. There were so many names she could have said and they wouldn't have mattered. Selina continued.

"He's holed up in that psyche ward. In that private hospital, St Dymphna.

"I know."

"Of course you do. They're saying he's cured. He wants you to visit him."

"I'll go soon. I need to get ready."

"No, go now. He wants _you_ to visit him." The implication was clear. She saw his face and took the hint.

"Well I better be going then. I guess you've got all you needed and nothing you wanted from me." She made for the door.

"Wait" Bruce grabbed her by the arm and pulled her to him. She smiled as he slipped a hand under her dress and ran it up her thigh. He soon found what he was looking for.

"Stop stealing my wallet" he told her, pocketing it.

"Just seeing if you were paying attention. Go a little higher and you might find something else."

"You can keep the watch. Now go."

When Selina left Bruce sat down on the floor and tried to get some bearing. There were things he could do, he knew that. And things he wouldn't do. Nothing could be planned without seeing him first.

The cat came over and began sniffing around him. It was just some stray, Lady Blackwarn had hated pets. Bruce made to stroke it and watched impassively as it, without any apparent malice, clawed at his hand and then licked at the trickling blood.

**Curtain fall**

He hadn't been Bruce Wayne this late into the night for some time. It made him feel all the more vulnerable as he stalked through the hospital, avoiding nurses and orderlies. The Batman could have done this a hundred different ways, but he was limited to Bruce Wayne's meagre skills. Eventually, and as intended a nurse caught him. He had chosen her to do this because she looked tired, bored and uninterested. Acting drunk and depressed, he asked if he could see Harvey. It was known the two of them had been friends once, and the clumsy bribe helped her see past the fact that visiting hours were over.

He was ushered into a dark room and left alone. Quickly his eyes adjusted to the dimness and he made out a lamp by the bed. As he went for the switch a hand grabbed him.

"Jesus!" he said, ignoring every urge he had to break the arm, shatter the wrist, disable the attacker.

"Leave it off" said Dent. "I think we'd both prefer that."

Bruce made himself sound nervous. It wasn't pretending so much as surrendering.

"I was at some party Harvey and...and I heard you needed to speak to me. That it was urgent. Is everything OK?" Slow. Unsure. Full of bluster to hide these facts. This was the image he had cultivated around Harvey when they still were friends.

"It is urgent." Dent said

"Well what's wrong? I heard you weren't...sick any more. I should have visited before now. I mean do you think...are you cured?"

"Not cured. Just neutered" Dent spoke slowly, as if each word needed to be carefully shaped before it left him. "Had a visitor. Mutual friend. Not Selina."

"Who was it?" Pretend.

"You know who it was."

Bruce knew.

"What're you talking about Harvey?" Pretend Pretend. Make it all go away.

Dent laughed."Even now you are still like this." The hand gesture at him dismissively. "Still I can't complain. Have a thing for duality myself. Wonder if you ever thought that. All the colourful characters you know. Turns out it's me you have the most in common with." Such a long speech seemed to exhaust him and he took a moment getting his breath.

"He follows you, you know. Dresses up and masquerades. Sneaks and spies. Like you did with me." He spat the words violently. "

"But not just one person. So many in your life. All the while laughing as you try so hard to look a fool. He told me this. Said it was a joke he needed to share. And he never wants it to end. Said it was just too damn funny!" Another pause for breathe.

"That's why I need to tell you. I don't find it funny. I want the joke to end. I'm going to tell people. Not everything. No one would believe everything. But slowly. Little hints. Like that one in the paper. Get people digging until someone works it out. Or until you do it. I'd prefer it that way. We could get better together Bruce. Be real people again."

Bruce shook his head sadly. "Harvey you can't go around telling lies like this. You'll never get out of here if you do."

There was a click and the room lit up. Dent was looking at Bruce in disgust. Surgery, skin grafts, hair transplants. He could almost be described as handsome again. But that sneer looked all too familiar.

"Can't even say it. Can you? Not even to me. I'm only half the man I used to be. That's still more than you." he said. He rummaged around the bed and pulled out a coin.

"Call it" he said. "Better chances than you deserve."

"Well if that's your coin then I better call heads" said Bruce "I remember all the times you cheated me with it."

Dent laughed "I know you have it. Another thing you took from me. This is just some dime. Now. Head or tails?"

"Harvey, you're deluded. When did you last have whatever pills they're giving you?"

"Think I'll go tails for a change."

"Harvey don't do this..."

But he did, with a well practised flick. Bruce watched the coin, horrified. But the Batman simply took note of which side had started face up, calculated its speed of rotation and distance from Dents waiting hand at its apex, and acted.

"Give it back" Dent said quietly when the coin had failed to land in his hand.

Bruce shook his head sadly. "You need to stop doing things like this. It's only going to make you worst."

"Give it back!" the words were hissed this time.

"I'm sorry." Bruce turned away and made to exit. "I'm going to see if I can find a nurse for you."

"Give. It. Back. Give. It. BACK! GIVE IT BACK!"

He didn't. Screams followed him all the way out as he walked away. And the sound of nails ripping skin.

**Encore**

Bruce awoke from the dymaxion sleep cycle that he had conditioned his body to. As always he felt alert and focused, but unrested. Condensing so much REM stage into such a short time gave incredibly vivid dreams as well as the constant risk of lucid dreaming. As a way to orientate he had a recording of himself state all the recent information that he might require.

He played the tape, deciphering the code he had spoken in as it went. Before it was halfway done he stopped, as the cat from Lord Blackwarns mansion jumped onto his lap and purred. Selina could have asked much more than for him just to take in a stray. She said that she hoped it to became a habit of his.

He rose from his bed and the cat followed. In the kitchen he found some canned tuna for it and stroked it gently as it fed. He even had some for himself. Leaving a note for Alfred about the new addition to the Wayne household Bruce went down into the cave.

He fished out Dents coin from his pocket and swapped it for the other one. He would follow through with his friends wishes. He flipped the coin.

"Heads" he said.

_The Batman wasn't given to introspection. That was for weaker men. He would do what was necessary. There were still a few hours of night left. Plenty of time to go back to the hospital. Break into medical records. Forge psyche reports and medical evaluations of Dent. ECT could block recent memories. Certain pharmaceuticals still in the experimental stage would do more._

_If what Dent had said was true then he would start vetting. Gordon would be first. The trust was gone for him and everyone. Not until he could be sure._

_The Batman flew through the city, ignoring the high, manic laughter that followed him everywhere._


End file.
